


Temptation Waits

by Psyromayniak



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass Slapping, Crossdressing, M/M, SNART IN A SKIRT, bottom!Snart, coldatom, kind of, len is being a sexy mofo, ray cannot tear his eyes away, skirted!len, skirted!snart, snart gets fucked in that skirt, snart looks fucking hot in that skirt, snart wants to fuck with ray, the kilt, the skirt - Freeform, unofficial snart in a skirt week, with a little mentioned coldwave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psyromayniak/pseuds/Psyromayniak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Snart couldn’t help but smirk – of course, the all-American boy scout himself would be the one to have a problem with the kilt. It made sense – Ray was probably the most straight-laced, heterosexual guy Snart had ever had to displeasure of working with. Naturally, he was going to be a little jarred by his teammate unprecedentedly turning up for a meeting in what was essentially a </i>skirt.</p>
<p>~~~ </p>
<p>Leonard Snart is very particular about his clothes and wants to see how far he can push his teammates, Ray in particular. But he doesn't get to fuck with Ray in the manner he was expecting. </p>
<p>-- Written for the unofficial Snart in a Skirt week! --</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation Waits

**Author's Note:**

> So those pictures of Len wearing that kilt have been going around and I couldn't help but have my take on it. This ended up being wayyyy longer than I intended it to be. 
> 
> (Title is taken from the song of the same name by Garbage)

As with everything in his life, Leonard Snart was always very particular about his clothes. Every outfit he had fulfilled certain criteria, appealed to specific taste, was set to blend with a certain crowd. No matter what his get-up, everything was usually very practical, with hidden pockets sewn into linings and scope for movement, stealth and a quick getaway, should it be required.

The kilt was no exception; it gripped tight at his waist with shiny buttons and fell in pleats to his knees, allowing for maximum mobility while maintaining his carefully styled image.

Len looked himself up and down appreciatively in the mirror, taking in the lines of his jacket where it met with the kilt at his hip. Yes, this would do _nicely_. He was eager to see the reactions of his crewmates to his state of dress, see who was willing to write the less conventional look off and who he could make uncomfortable. It was always useful to know which side of the line your companions stand on this sort of thing – that kind of weakness was always exploitable.

He passed Rip on the way to the bridge, the man striding past him without so much as a second glance. Evidently society had progressed to the point of acceptance in 2166, right alongside succumbing to an evil, immortal tyrant. _You win some, you lose some._

The bridge itself was near empty, so Snart let himself leaning against the central console, one leg crossed in front of the other, fingers steepled as the crew started filing in for the morning brief. Snart caught Sara’s eye at once, her eyes narrowing as she clocked his kilt. She shook her head reverently as she closed the gap between them, coming to stand at his right.  

“ _Really,_ Leonard. With _pants?_ ” she said, elbowing him in the side playfully, “that’s a crime against fashion.”

“What can I say, I didn’t want to get _chilly_.”

“And there I was thinking the cold was your element,” Sara grinned, eyes snapping up to focus on something over Len’s shoulder.

A palm connected with a resounding _crack_ across his ass-cheeks, followed by a satisfied grunt as Mick came to stand at his left.  

“Was that _really_ necessary?” Len made a show of rolling his head around to glare at his partner, who was grinning toothily, his hand still planted on Len’s ass.

“Well, if you’re gonna leave it sticking out like that…” Mick shrugged, giving Len’s ass a squeeze for good measure.

Another crack across his cheeks and Len’s head snapped to his right. He shot daggers at Sara, who was trying her best to contain her laughter and _failing_.

Len pushed himself up and spun 180, folding his arms across his chest as he pressed his ass against the console, safely out of the reach.

“Aww, you’re no _fun_ ,” Sara poked him in the bicep, but Len’s attention had been suddenly drawn elsewhere.

Standing across the bridge from him was _Raymond_ , eyes wide and his mouth gawping in a small ‘o’, and he was _staring_. Straight at Len’s hips.  And _lower_.

Snart couldn’t help but smirk – of course, the all-American boy scout himself would be the one to have a problem with the kilt. It made sense – Ray was probably the most straight-laced, heterosexual guy Snart had ever had to displeasure of working with. Naturally, he was going to be a little jarred by his teammate unprecedentedly turning up for a meeting in what was essentially a _skirt_.

Len’s heart soared. This was _exactly_ what he was hoping for, and better – a new and innovative way to get under _Raymond’s_ skin, of all people.

What didn’t make sense, however, was the way Ray’s gaze didn’t seem to leave him all day. From the morning briefing, over lunch, even on their small recon mission in the jumpship, Ray couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the tailored, black little number that swished ever so nicely as Snart walked.

More than once Len had turned around only to find himself face to face with the physicist, quickly trying to look away. But not quick enough.

And it left Snart wondering. Maybe he’s misjudged the man after all. Maybe Raymond wasn’t as arrow-straight as he’d first thought.

It was something to chew over, anyway. Ray wasn’t an eyesore by any means; tall, dark and built like an athlete, handsome in the most classical sense of the word. Len would be lying if he’d said he _hadn’t_ thought about the man at least once or twice, late at night and where no one could see. But the prospect of Ray actually being _interested_ in him? Len wasn’t sure where that left him.

It was something extra to tease him about, maybe push his buttons a little harder, amp up the flirting a notch, see exactly how flustered he could get the man. See where his breaking point was, if he had one.

Now _that_ was a plan.

When Len swiped open the door to the cargo hold, inventory list from their mission in hand, he knew at once he wasn’t alone.

Bent over one of the large wooden crates, a black tank top clinging to his offensively muscled frame, was Doctor Palmer himself.

Now, Snart could have gone about his business, not made a fuss, let Raymond get on with whatever he was doing with minimal interference, but… where was the _fun_ in that? They were alone, in a seldom visited part of the ship… sure, there were cameras but who was going to check them?

Without a sound, Len crossed the room to stand just behind the other man, really taking the time to appreciate the way his pants hugged the curve of his ass so _nicely_.

Even as the door swished shut, Ray seemed oblivious, his brow furrowed and his head bent low over the crate.

Snart waited a few seconds, eyes lazily drawing up the line of Ray’s spine, tracing the dip between his shoulder blades and noting the way his shoulders rolled under all that flawless, tanned skin, before finally parting his lips to speak.

“ _Raymond_.”

Len’s never seen a grown man jump quite so dramatically. Ray jolted forward, one hand flying up to cover his mouth to stop the high pitched shriek he knew he was already too late to prevent, before turning in an almost perfect pirouette to glower at Snart.

It probably would have been more threatening if Ray’s heart wasn’t beating so obviously fast, his face a little blanched and his pupils blown wide. Len wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had wet himself, the sheer affrontedness of his adorable little pout as it was.

Len smirked, simply watching, as Ray’s breathing settled and his eyes tracked instinctively _down_ , settling once again at the pleats of Snart’s kilt like they were the wrapper on a lucky Wonka bar.

“My eyes are up here, boy scout.”

Ray’s head snapped up and he floundered, a strip of heat running across his cheeks in a red flush. “What- what are you doing here, Snart?”

Len made a show of rolling his eyes, fingers drumming on the back of the inventory list he held, “you’ve been staring at my _ass_ all day. Came to find out _why_.”

“I-” the blush deepened, Ray’s mouth flapping open uselessly as no explanation came.

“ _Please_ , enlighten me,” Snart edged forwards, taking a keen pleasure in crowding the other man against the crate behind him.

“I mean it’s just- you’re wearing a- a _skirt_ ,” Ray offered, waving his hand uselessly as he felt the back of his legs press against the wood.  

“It’s a _kilt_ , and what of it?” there was barely any space between them now, and Len could feel the heat rolling off the other man. This was _perfect_. He was panicking, cornered, with no easy way out. If light teasing on the bridge made Len’s day a little brighter, this was _divine_.

“-over your _pants,_ ” Ray finished, his voice a little stronger.

Len blinked, taken off guard, “so?”

“I just…” Ray tried to break eye contact but Len wouldn’t let him. Ray swallowed and set his jaw, “I just think it’d look better _without_.”

Len blinked again, tilting his head to the side, “without… _pants_?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, traditionally you’re not supposed to wear _anything_ underneath a kilt so I thought-” Ray was sounding more confident now, more sure of himself, and he was barely squirming.

“You mean to say you’ve been _eyeing me up_ all day because you think I should _strip_ ,” Snart snorted, giving his best attempt at a piercing stare – oddly difficult in such close proximity, their chests practically brushing.

Evidently, it didn’t have the desired effect.

“Well not _exactly_ , but, in essence… yeah?” Ray shrugged in hesitant admission, pushing one hand back to comb through his hair.

He looked like a fucking perfume model and it made Snart’s stomach churn. Time, he thought, to change tack.

“ _Raymond_ ,” he purred, “I had no _idea_ you liked me so much.” Len couldn’t help himself – he was enjoyed the flustered look on Ray’s face far more than he should – he lifted his hand and ran his index finger down the centre-line of Ray’s chest.

Ray shivered involuntarily.

A few beats passed between them, and Snart wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen next, but Raymond’s hands grasping his waist as he closed the gap between their mouths wasn’t it. Not that Snart was _complaining_ , however.

Ray’s kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative, but when Len’s hands found Ray’s hips, the inventory list discarded, it became stronger, more assured. The touch of the man’s tongue at his lips and Len was opening his mouth, letting Ray deepen the kiss with little resistance. He moaned as Ray licked stripes across his pallet, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Ray’s tank top and pressing their bodies together at last.

It was Len who broke first, leaving Ray breathless, and took a half-step back, examining his handiwork. There was a noticeable bulge at Ray’s crotch and his blush had spread down past his clavicle to his chest.

There was a part of Snart that wanted to walk away, leave Ray gasping and horny while he took a long, private shower, or propositioned Mick. It would be cruel, and worthwhile from his stance as the man’s chief antagonist, but… The thought of pushing harder, seeing how easily he could break Ray out of his goody two shoes mould, that was _delicious_. And far too tempting of an opportunity to turn away from.

So Snart held Ray’s gaze and slipped his hands under his kilt, unbuckling his belt.  

Ray’s eyes widened, his lips parting as he sucked in a breath. “What are you _doing_?”

“Don’t say you’ve changed your mind about this looking better _without_ pants?”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Ray almost spluttered, his face flushing redder (was that even possible?), “no, I haven’t, ah, I haven’t changed my mind…”

Snart shot him a smirk and pushed his pants and briefs down, neatly stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. The hem of his kilt fluttered against his thighs and he felt oddly liberated. “Now where _were_ we?” Len closed the gap between them once again, pressing up against Ray’s chest, and kissed him, long and deep.

Ray’s arousal must have been getting the better of him – pushing past his higher centres – because the next thing Len knew the man’s hands were cupping his ass over the top of his kilt and his tongue was pushing down Leonard’s throat.

Len’s own erection was free against the pleated fabric of the kilt, straight up against his pubic bone, and he ground forward testingly, feeling the firm bulge at Ray’s crotch against his own. This seemed to spur Raymond on, his hands pulling Len tighter against him as their kiss became more forceful.

Later, Snart would reflect on this and wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t have acted as he did, and if he’d really, _truly_ intended this all to be some sort of test for Raymond. Or had it been something more? Latent attraction mixed with lust mixed with burning curiosity.

No matter what drove it, Leonard still trailed one hand along Ray’s forearm from his elbow until it rested over the back of Ray’s own. With a gentle, tugging pull he guided Ray’s hand down, to the hem of his kilt, then up and underneath.

Snart felt the hitch in Ray’s breath as his fingers met with the skin of Len’s thigh and for a moment he thought the other man might pull away. But almost at once Ray’s fingers were spread out, his palm warm and firm against the muscle as he slid his hand up to cup Snart’s bare ass.

Len felt his muscles twitch involuntarily and moaned softly into the kiss. Ray was a much better kisser than he’d anticipated, and it made him wonder what else he could do with that mouth…

Catching his train of thought, Ray’s hands moved – his left hand snaking under the hem of the kilt while his right trailed back over Snart’s thigh and twisted to cup his balls.

It was Len’s turn for his breath to hitch, now, as he canted his hips forward to press himself into Ray’s palm. Ray’s long fingers stroked across his sac and up to the base of his cock before his hand twisted again and he’d taken Len’s shaft in a light grip.

Len found himself moaning again, a little louder, as he yanked the cotton of Ray’s tank top up over his frustratingly chiselled abs. His thumbs rubbed over the hard nubs of Ray’s nipples and he canted forwards again, relishing the friction between his cock and the other man’s palm. In turn, Ray circled his thumb across the slit at Len’s head, smearing the forming pre-come in lazy circles.

It was Ray who broke the kiss this time, a new, almost sordid look on his face as he pulled his hand from under Len’s skirt pressed his thumb to his lips, sucking Len’s pre-come from it and not once breaking eye contact.

If Snart had been a weaker man he might have spilled his load right then and there. In his rare fantasies about the scientist, Len had always seen himself to be the one splitting Ray’s ass in two, the other man a mewling wreck beneath him. But now, God _, now,_ all Snart could think about was Raymond bending him over the crates and fucking him senseless.

With nimble fingers Len took Ray’s wrist in a light hold, pulling Ray’s thumb from his mouth and bringing the man’s hand to rest against his own lips. With only the slightest, teasing, hint of teeth, Len sucked first Ray’s index, then middle, then ring fingers into his mouth, circling each one slowly with his tongue and coating them with his spit.

He had no idea if Ray had been with a man before, but if he hadn’t then Len hoped he’d given a big enough hint as to what he wanted from him, and enough time to back out if he chose to.  

For his part, Ray seemed to know what he was doing. He pulled his fingers slowly from Len’s mouth, watching as a small line of spit dripped over the man’s swollen lips, and snuck them back underneath his kilt. With his left hand Ray spread Len’s cheeks while he traced the nail of his index finger down until it rested over Len’s puckered hole.

Snart’s eyelids fluttered closed at the first hint of pressure, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as Ray pushed a spit-wet finger inside of him. This was not how he had thought this would go, not _one_ bit.

Len pressed his forehead against the crux of Ray’s shoulder as the other man opened him up, pushing a second and then a third finger into him and scissoring, splaying and twisting them until Len was biting back moans at every juncture.

The scrape of Ray’s jaw against his cheek and there was hot breath at his ear.

“I think you’re ready to take me, now, if you want,” Ray’s voice was a little guttural with desire, but somehow he managed to keep it gentle, undemanding.

Despite himself, Snart couldn’t help but snort – it was probably the nicest way anyone had ever asked him to take their cock. He was used to Mick’s vulgar grunts, telling him to take it like the slut he was. But here was the boy scout, politely informing him that – if and _only_ if he wanted to – he was all ready for penetration.

Len turned his head so his lips were over Ray’s pulse point and spoke the rough command into his skin: “ _Fuck me_.”

And by God did Ray oblige.

Snart felt Ray grasp his upper arms and spin him around, moving them both until Len was pressed against one of the hip-height crates. Ray’s hand between his shoulder blades bent him over and he spread his legs of his own fruition, content with heavy intake of breath this tugged out of the other man.

Propped up on his elbows, head down and eyes closed, Snart grinned to himself as he heard the clinking of a belt being undone, then a zipper.

When was the last time Len had taken a cock blind? Probably more recently than he should have – Mick was right, he _was_ a slut when it came right down to it.

Another sound – the crinkle of foil – _shit_ he really should have thought of that himself – as Ray produced what he assumed was a condom from fuck-knows where and then a cold, wet press against his hole.

_“Jesus,_ Raymond. You had _lube_ this whole time?” Len tried to twist his head over his shoulder – again, strange; he was used to Mick’s hand holding his head down and still – and was met with a sheepish smile.

“’Be Prepared’, boy scout’s motto…”

Snart almost reconsidered. Almost stood back up and walked out, refusing on principle alone to get fucked by such a… _dweeb_. _Almost_. Ray had pushed two fingers into him again and Len was suddenly reminded exactly why he was here. To get _fucked_.

He moaned softly and turned back, pressing his head against the top of the crate and let himself relax as Ray pulled his fingers back out of him, briefly missing the pressure before the blunt tip of Ray’s cock buffeted against his entrance.

Ray fucked into him slowly, one hand wrapped around his own base as a guide while the other anchored him at Snart’s hips.

Len couldn’t help but whimper as he felt the light slap of skin against his cheeks, knowing that Ray was now balls deep inside him. He was big, bigger than Mick even, though lesser in girth. Len could feel the pressure of him, and the heat, and-

_Fuck_.

Ray had started moving. _Thrusting_. His hips rocking slowly as he pulled out a few inches and pushed back in, the fabric of Len’s skirt framing his ass beautifully.

The constant, stable pressure was good. It was _nice_. It eased Len into the sex without pain or risk of injury and gave him a base level of satisfaction. It was what he’d expect after a long, romantic dinner and a bottle of wine. It wasn’t what he wanted from being bent over a crate in the cargo bay by a guy who didn’t even use his first name.

Len wanted it rough, he wanted it hard and fast and messy, he wanted to leave this with scratches on his back and a hickey or two he could wear to make Ray blush in meetings.  

Ray was going a little harder now, rocking faster, but not by much; not _enough_.  

“I said _fuck_ me, pretty boy,” Snart hissed.

“You want me to go harder?”

“Harder, faster, rougher, like I’m a $10 hooker out the back of some shitty nightclub.” Images flashed through Snart’s mind; strobe lights, sweat, the slap of skin against skin in the darkness.

“Uh,” Ray was lost for a reply, but he answered with a steady increase in pace, shifting his grip on Len’s waist.

“I take it- you’ve never- had that- experience,” Len said between breaths, splaying his own fingers against the wooden crate top.

“Never had the clap either,” Ray grinned, pulling out almost to his tip and pushing forward, _in_ , with as much force as he could muster.

“Nnf!”

“There, you like that?”

Snart didn’t get the chance to answer. Ray had moved both hands to grip Len’s sides tightly, mooring him tightly as he thrust harder once, then twice and-

_Oh_.

_G o d._

Ray adjusted his angle so each thrust skimmed across his prostate, and he _pounded_ him, Snart’s thighs bashing into the crate. The pleats of Len’s skirt were displaced, flapping in time with each thrust as Ray’s balls slapped hard against his bare ass. Len was moaning low and instinctively, his cock twitching as he took every inch Raymond had to give him.

_Like the little slut he was_.

Because, _fuck_ , Mick was right. When it came down to it Snart _knew_ how much he loved, no, how much he _needed_ it. To get fucked, hard and dirty and without all of the emotional strings attached. It let him forget the shit he’d been through, the shit he’d done, acted as escape route and punishment and celestial narcotic all rolled into one.

Giving head to sleazy guys in grotty bathroom stalls was one thing – close enough to a death wish as it had been in his youth, before Mick had knocked some sense into him, offered him a regular, apathetic fuck when he needed it. But then the emotions started, and Len’s little black heart had started to soften around his partner. Mick saw it; saw the look in Len’s eyes when he kissed him, went down on him; he felt it in the gentle touches Len allowed him, heard it in the whispered breaths as they curled up together on Mick’s stained, fraying mattress.

They’d been young, then. Both full of rage and daddy issues and unresolved hatred for the world. They’d been simpler times.

Pressure, suddenly, around Len’s cock and he _groaned_. Ray had fisted one hand in the loose folds of his skirt, pulling them tight, and slipped the other around to the front, taking Snart’s length in his palm and jerking.

_Fuck_.

This certainly wasn’t pretty boy’s first rodeo.

Heat at his neck, then wetness – Ray’s mouth was on him, kissing, _biting_ , as he used his grip on the kilt to pull Len’s ass into him, bending forward to press their bodies together. Ray upped his pace again and Len thought his knees were going to give out under him, Ray’s hand matching his thrusts one for one.  

“Come for me,” a sultry whisper, little more than a gasp, in Snart’s ear.

He felt the tension coiled in his stomach shift.

“I’m-” and Len was seeing stars.

He came in short, hot bursts as Ray worked his cock, milking him up from the base for every last drop he had to give, not letting up on his ass for a second.

Snart let himself sag a little, his mind spinning and his thighs shaking, wrists and elbows unable to hold his weight. He didn’t have enough strength or tenacity left in him to hold it out, keep himself up and pushing back against the man inside him. Instead, Len settled for just this, chest against the crate top and legs spread wide, letting the final vestiges of his orgasm pulse through him as Ray bore down on his ass, still fucking him, still _using_ him.

He felt the cling of wet fabric against his come-smeared shaft as his kilt pressed against his upper thigh, and he purred.

Behind him, _inside_ him, Ray let out a half choked shout, his hips juddering as he pushed as deep and hard as he could in one final thrust, spilling his load.

Len’s eyes flickered shut as he savoured the feeling; innocent little Raymond climaxing God knows how deep in his ass, his fingers grasping at his skirt and his lips hot against the back of his neck.

Seconds passed, the sound of skin against skin replaced with hot, heavy panting. Ray shifted, withdrawing his softening shaft as slowly as he could, running his hand across the back of Snart’s neck as he sighed.

When Len turned around, Ray was already re-buttoning his fly, a sheepish look plastered across his stupid, beautiful face. Len crossed one sticky leg over the other, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the crate.

“That was…” Ray started, waving a hand like he could pull a sufficient adjective out of thin air.

“ _Something_ ,” Snart finished for him, flashing the other man a wolfish grin.

“Yeah. Yeah it was,” Ray said, licking his lips and looking at his feet, “so uh… do you want to… maybe, get dinner some time?”

Len snorted and looked on with thinly veiled incredulity as Raymond Palmer slowly looked up at him with those big, brown eyes, practically batting his long lashed lids.

“ _Sure_ , as long as you’re buying.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm down for every single iteration of Snart in a Skirt.


End file.
